


An Artifice of Copper and Tin

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Children of the Sun [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Familiars, Gen, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26434531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: In the wake of the revelations about so many people’s familiars, the wizarding world reacts…badly.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Children of the Sun [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/399547
Comments: 70
Kudos: 721





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This immediately follows _A Door Into Hope_ in my Children of the Sun series, and will spoil its ending if you haven’t read it. This should be only a few chapters long, and then the next longer part of the series will start.

Wychard Medwyn came back into the Slytherin common room with a small sigh. It was true that Potter was still a threat, and he understood his family’s desire to get rid of him. The little bastard would probably expose their magical advances in some misguided desire to do “good.”

But for right now, Wychard didn’t see the point of continuing to strike at Potter. They were already making people suspicious. And with that Malfoy git re-Sorted into Hufflepuff, Potter wasn’t close to anyone in Slytherin House. He wouldn’t know what Wychard and his cousins were doing. They could—

A cold wave swept the common room. Wychard shivered and glanced around as a golden glow seemed to settle over everything. He frowned. The light looked warm, but he had _definitely_ felt the cold. It still prickled over his skin like spiders’ feet.

“What is wrong with your familiar, Wychard?”

Wychard jumped and turned around. “What are you talking about?” He knew his voice came out defensively, but, well, _no one_ could suspect that he’d been born with a silver familiar and sacrificed part of it to give one of his Squib cousins a tin familiar.

Then he saw Curtis, his bronze peacock, standing in the middle of the common room. A golden glow surrounded him, and Wychard’s heart leaped even though it was stupid to think his familiar had somehow transformed into a golden one.

When he shook his head free of the insane dreams, he saw the words floating in the golden aura, drifting back and forth like tar on a river.

_Artificial familiar._

Wychard felt as if someone had cast a Permanent Sticking Charm on him. He could do nothing but stare at Curtis, his heart making odd lurches in his chest, and thinking what it would mean when his family found out.

“What do those words mean?” asked Pansy Parkinson, an annoying little first-year who had thrown a fit when Draco Malfoy was Sorted into Hufflepuff.

Wychard cleared his throat. He had one chance to salvage this, and he could only hope that the strategy other members of his family adopted would be similar. “Someone’s idea of a prank,” he said. “You know how I didn’t get that spell right in Transfiguration the other week?” He continued to bull ahead when Parkinson gave him a blank look, because of course she hadn’t been in his Transfiguration class and had no idea what he was talking about. “Well, I think someone’s put these words on Curtis as a prank. To remind me. I m-mean, I’m not v-very good at turning artificial objects into natural ones.”

“You also don’t usually stutter,” said Parkinson, and narrowed her eyes at him.

Wychard’s nerve broke. He made a huge swipe at her, and Parkinson leaped back. Curtis squawked and leaped over to join him. Wychard put a hand on his back and drew on his magic as hard as he could. Curtis spread his wings and joined him in creating the kind of glow that warned most people to back off.

It couldn’t overpower the _stupid_ golden glow around Curtis, but that wasn’t Wychard’s main problem at the moment. His problem was that Parkinson’s own familiar was hissing at him. That familiar was a bronze krait Parkinson had named Karma, and he always watched everything in silence.

Except for now, when he was hissing loudly enough to bring Professor Snape any second, his eyes locked on Wychard.

“Call off your familiar, Parkinson,” Wychard said, and took a step back to Curtis. Maybe he could get him into his own bedroom, and then he would only have to deal with immediate questions from his roommates.

“Apologize, _Medwyn_ , and maybe I will.”

She said his last name like it was some dirty secret, like it was—

“What do you _know_?” Wychard shouted, and then it was as if he couldn’t stop shouting. He took a step closer to Parkinson, ignoring the way her familiar reared up. If she knew—if other people knew—“Did you do this? As a _joke_?”

“No. I don’t have the power to do something like that, and neither does Karma. But it’s interesting, don’t you think?”

Wychard glanced rapidly around the common room. Everyone was staring at him, but he saw sympathy in few enough pairs of eyes. Some people would think him weak for not being able to deal with this, some would think him foolish for provoking Parkinson and her venomous familiar, and—

Some were staring from him to Curtis, and there was dawning disgust in their eyes.

Some might know about _special_ familiars.

Wychard swooped up his peacock and ran to his bedroom, keeping his head down as he did, trying in vain not to feel all their eyes.

*

Amelia stared in silence at the long-time Ministry archivist standing in front of her. “Do you want to tell me why those words are floating on your familiar’s aura, Laurel?”

“No. Madam Bones,” Laurel Colton added a second later, but her eyes flashed in a way that made Amelia glad she’d locked the door so the woman couldn’t storm out.

The problem was Laurel’s copper mongoose, whose name Amelia hadn’t learned. Now, staring at the creature curled in Laurel’s arms with the words _Artificial familiar_ floating on a golden light around it, she wished she had.

“I would like to look into your familiar’s eyes.”

“She doesn’t need that! She has enough to deal with right now.”

“I’m going to insist, Madam Colton,” said Amelia, and drew her wand. Beside her, Phantom crouched and snarled. He had never shown any such reaction to Laurel’s familiar before, but then, they’d never spent much time around each other. “And if you get in the way, I’ll simply Stun you.”

Laurel stared at her with what looked like genuine betrayal. “I haven’t done anything to make you act like this!”

“If those words floating in front of your familiar are true, then you’ve been party to or actually committed a deep crime. Now move.”

Laurel stepped off to the side, her hands visible as white-knuckled for a second before she put her familiar on Amelia’s desk and moved away, clapped them together behind her back. Amelia nodded to her and faced the mongoose. “What’s her name?”

“Gorgeous.”

Amelia didn’t laugh at the name, although the expression on Laurel’s face said she expected it. She simply bent over and met Gorgeous’s eyes square on, ignoring the uneasy way Laurel shifted.

A second later, she closed her own eyes and sighed. “There’s no spirit there.”

“Just because not all of us have silver familiars—”

“No. I didn’t mean it that way.” Amelia supposed she should have known that some people would take her words to mean that old canard that copper and tin familiars weren’t as intelligent and capable as bronze and silver ones. She faced Laurel. “She doesn’t really look at me. She looks past me.”

Laurel stared at her and said nothing. Amelia opened her mouth to speak again.

Laurel bolted straight at her, snatching her wand out of her pocket. At the same moment, Gorgeous sprang at Phantom.

It wasn’t entirely clear what Laurel thought this would accomplish, but whatever it was, it didn’t work. Phantom shot his paw out and pinned Gorgeous to the floor. Laurel ended up with Amelia’s wand digging into her throat so hard that Amelia was mildly surprised that the tip hadn’t ruptured her skin.

“You can’t take her from me,” Laurel breathed, stepping back a little but not looking Amelia in the eye. “She’s all I have.”

“And whose familiar did you destroy, to do this twisted thing?” Amelia could feel realization crashing down on her, delayed by her hope that this was some sort of enormous prank or illusion spell, or even an attempt to get a few specific people in trouble. “You—you _destroyed_ one of the magical begins who consent to come to us, who—”

“I was a Squib!” Laurel shouted, the words overflowing from her mouth as if she had been struck by a realization opposite from Amelia’s, that this might be her only chance to tell her the story. “None of them consented to come to _me!_ Why should I _care_ what happens to them? They’re just animals! So my father loved me more than the stupid hare always hopping along next to him, so _what_! If you lot treated Squib children better, maybe no one would ever want to do this, but you _have_ to—”

Amelia Stunned her, heartsick and afraid of what she might hear that she’d need to act on later. She turned and glanced at Phantom. He was snarling down at the motionless mongoose, but then he pulled his paw away and stalked to the far side of the room. Gorgeous kept lying where she was, staring at the ceiling with blank eyes.

Amelia closed her eyes. Phantom came to her and stood next to her, his tail curling through her fingers. Amelia leaned her cheek on him.

Then she called the Aurors, so they could tell her how many people had Flooed the Ministry in the last hour, or were still there, who had the words _Artificial familiar_ floating around a familiar near them.

And first thing in the morning, she was going to speak to Minerva McGonagall about the little problem she suspected had caused all this.

*

“I can’t believe you did this, Kelly.”

Julian kept his voice low and his gaze directed away from his wife. His attention was on Jasmine, her copper king snake familiar, who had gone dull and inert the minute she was separated from Kelly. Jasmine lay motionless in the middle of the table.

Julian kept trying to remember if he had ever seen them separate before. He _had_ to have, surely. In the early days of their relationship? There had to be times that he and Kelly had made love when both Jasmine and his Sara were banished from the bedroom.

But then…

Julian shut his eyes as he remembered. Kelly would always get up early, claiming that she wanted to get breakfast started, since they wouldn’t eat for hours if Julian cooked. And by the time Julian had taken a shower and come out, Kelly was always humming, with Jasmine curled around her neck.

“Is this—how did you make her act like a real familiar?” he asked, turning to his wife. “The mere _whispers_ of this I’ve heard have the artificial ones acting like machines.”

“You think that yours is _real_?”

Kelly laughed, but her voice was low and ugly. Julian stared at her helplessly. He really didn’t know her at all, but he had _thought_ he did. Kelly shook her head now, her long blonde curls that he had loved for years whipping about her shoulders. The expression on her face was seared deep with bitterness.

“She’s just a manifestation of your magic,” Kelly said scornfully. “It’s not like her form _matters._ It’s just something you thought of when you were a child, and the way your magic appeared to comfort you. They’re not _real_ animals. If we were sensible like Muggles, they would appear as hammers or wands or the like. Tools we could actually _use._ ”

Sara made a miserable noise and hid her face against the side of Julian’s neck. He reached up to put his hand on her back and soothe her, although he didn’t know what he could do. Not when his own guts were churning with horror. “Kelly, they _are_ real. They live and think and feel and dream.”

Kelly rolled her eyes and pointed her finger at Jasmine. “ _She_ doesn’t.”

“That’s because she’s an abomination!” Julian snapped, surging to his feet as he lost his temper at last. “Made out of a familiar whom you _cut up while it was alive_!”

“You know what’s an abomination? The way people like you cast Squib children out to _die._ ”

“They live in the Muggle world—”

“And that’s death, living death, to be cut off from the world you’re born in.” Kelly had always seemed so pleasant and calm, and now Julian knew that he must have fallen in love with the mask. She had her arms crossed and spoke far more passionately than he’d ever heard her. “The world _I_ was born in. All I had to do was cut up an arrogant animal who got more attention than I ever did, and then I had respect. You married me. Would you have married me if I was a Squib? I don’t _think_ so. I had sons with magic. I had an honored position in a society that would have rejected me otherwise.”

Julian swallowed back his agony and his horror. “You think I’m going to _stay_ married to you now?”

“No. But only because that child you coddle so much interfered where he shouldn’t have interfered!”

Kelly was shouting now so that her voice bounced off the walls. The doorknob of Julian’s study rattled. “Mum? Dad?” It was David, their younger son. Julian felt a sudden deep surge of gratitude that David’s gazelle, Philberta, had had no golden aura or words proclaiming her artificial drifting around her this morning.

“Just a moment, David,” Julian said, not looking away from Kelly. “It was a lie, wasn’t it? Everything.”

“Yes, I _pretended_ to be a witch.” Kelly rolled her eyes. “Such a terrible crime in this damn society that would despise me for the way I was born.” Her arms were folded hard enough that Julian could see her muscles bulging like rocks.

Julian swallowed. “I could have forgiven you for being a Squib. For wanting a better position.”

“But?”

“Not for taking out your anger on someone even more helpless than you are,” Julian said. “And I’m going to divorce you, Kelly.”

“What are you going to do about Jasmine?”

Julian walked over and leaned on the door for a moment, hearing Philberta making the soft whickers that he knew calmed David down. It was going to be hard as hell to go out there and tell his son what had happened and that he and Kelly were getting divorced, but he wouldn’t have David growing up around someone who thought it was all right to do that to familiars.

“I don’t know yet,” he said, meeting her gaze. Kelly had turned to face him, and her lip was caught between her teeth. Julian had to beat back his automatic desire to go over and soothe her, the way he couldn’t soothe Sara. They had been married for almost twenty years.

“How can you not know?’

“Because I don’t know what the legal response is going to be.” Sara had stopped half-shrieking now, and Julian took his hand off the doorknob to cradle his bronze monkey familiar close. Her hands clutched at the collar of his robes. Julian closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the betrayal on Kelly’s face. “I don’t know if everyone with an artificial familiar is going to be made to give them up, or arrested, or cast out from the wizarding world, or what.”

“It’s not like we committed murder! They’re _animals._ ”

Sara shuddered against him. Julian looked at his wife. “You’re not a horrible person because you were born a Squib. You’re a horrible person because you can say things like _that_.”

He turned and left the room, only for David to pounce on him the minute he was past the door. He was clinging to Julian’s waist and babbling a hundred miles an hour. Julian picked him up, although he was nine years old and heavy, and carried him into David’s bedroom, where he shut the door behind them.

“What’s going to happen with Mum?” David whispered, tears on his cheeks when he lifted his head. “What did she do to Jasmine?”

“She made Jasmine from the remains of another familiar,” Julian said. “I don’t know exactly how, or whose familiar it was. But we’re getting divorced, David. I’m sorry. We can’t stay married now.”

David started crying. Julian cradled his son close, while his mind turned to Harry.

This was exactly the kind of rash move he had warned Harry against. People who were wary of the power of those born to the gold would be upset with him, and find further material for fear in his act. People with artificial familiars would seek to kill him more than ever. The Ministry would be displeased about having to make a decision about all the people with “artificial familiar” drifting in the aura of their animals.

But at the same time, Julian could understand why Harry had done it. The Ministry never would have acted without some kind of solid, definitive proof. And Harry had people afraid of him and trying to kill him already.

This way, the Ministry _had_ to act.

And for himself…

 _I would always rather know than not know,_ Julian thought, and continued to hold his son, while David’s sobs shuddered towards quiet and he listened for the slam of the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

“I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

Harry sighed a little as he looked up at the woman who had come to confront him in the entrance hall when he was on his way to breakfast. He still felt a little sick and dazed from the magic he’d expended the night before, and he didn’t know if he could fight her off if she attacked him.

He didn’t know who she was. Other than older than him, a lot taller than him, and with dark hair and a bitter face and a tin horse behind her. The horse had a golden aura around her and the words _Artificial familiar_ floating in it.

“I’m not happy,” Harry said, staring up at the woman again. “But I think that this was the only way to keep more people from being attacked to protect this secret.”

The woman drew her wand without a word. Golden whipped himself around Harry’s ankles and yanked him down, then covered his body when he was on the floor with glittering coils. Harry couldn’t move, but he also didn’t think there was one place on his body that would be unprotected if the woman tried to use magic on him.

“Miss Jordan!”

Professor McGonagall’s voice boomed out, and the woman didn’t attack Harry, maybe because she was startled. Harry shoved at Golden with his shoulders and arms as best as he could, and Golden moved a little so that Harry could see what was going on.

Jordan, apparently, had turned to stare at the Headmistress as she approached, Malkin striding behind her with his fur all luffed out, hissing and spitting. Professor McGonagall had her hand clenched hard around her wand.

“You are one of the people who already came here to attack Mr. Potter,” she said. “Are you going to do it again?”

Harry shivered. He hadn’t known for certain that this Jordan person had been one of the people who attacked him, but it made sense. If she was willing to draw her wand on him once in the school, she could do it again.

“He ruined my life.” Jordan shut her eyes, and Harry saw her hands trembling before she tucked her wand back into her sleeve. “If he’d left things well enough _alone_ and stopped making noise about artificial familiars…”

“I know that you were born a Squib.” Professor McGonagall lowered her voice, and Harry wasn’t surprised to see that she had raised the bubble of a Privacy Charm around them. He touched Golden’s head, and slowly his familiar let him up. “I know that you were treated unfairly, and I agree that things should change. But murdering other people will only increase the bad publicity that those with artificial familiars have.”

Jordan shook her head. She was trembling. Harry watched her and sighed. He couldn’t really feel sorry for her, not when she was one of the people who had convinced him that he had to mark people’s artificial familiars, but he supposed that he could feel sorry for people _like_ her. The ones who would be devastated and hadn’t tried to murder anyone.

“You have caught one of them, Minerva?”

That was Professor Snape, coming up the stairs from the dungeon. Professor McGonagall looked back and forth for a moment between Jordan and Professor Snape. Then she said, “She must be turned over to the Ministry.”

“Why?”

Harry winced. He could see the brightness in Professor Snape’s eyes that would turn into cruelty if someone didn’t do something to stop it. And that someone had to be him. He was the one who had partially caused this situation.

“I don’t want you to hurt her, Professor Snape,” he said. “I want her to be turned over to justice.”

Professor Snape turned to him. His face twitched for a moment, and Harry wondered if he was thinking about the ways that he could make Jordan suffer, or what would happen if he did it and Harry didn’t like it. Maybe both.

Then he jerked his head down sharply. “If it must be, then it must be,” he said in irritation. “Although I don’t trust that the Ministry will actually do anything to the criminals.”

“They’re going to have to,” said Minerva, as she Summoned Jordan’s wand with a flick of her own, and then used a spell that linked her hands together behind her back with a clink of chain. Jordan’s mouth flew open in a gasp. Harry wondered if the spell did something else, too. He hadn’t seen it before, so he didn’t know.

He resolved to ask Professor Quirrell the next time he saw him.

“Should you—” Professor Snape turned to face the horse behind Jordan, and a moment later, Professor McGonagall did, as well.

“Should I need to? When she will not be able to access her familiar’s magic in the usual way?”

Professor Snape’s face was harsh, as if he was trying to take his frustration at not being able to hurt Jordan out in words. “You should. We do not know enough of the magic used to create artificial familiars, and whether she might be able to use her horse as a _tool_ from a distance even if it doesn’t react like a normal familiar.”

“She _is_ a normal familiar!” Jordan snapped. For an instant, her wrists writhed against the chain, and then it snapped tight behind her back with a louder sound than before. Jordan’s face went white. Harry bit his lip, but kept watching. He had been the one who brought about these circumstances. He would make sure that he watched.

“No, she isn’t,” Professor Snape began, in the tone that said he would be happy to debate Jordan for as long as she watched.

Professor McGonagall solved the problem by two more chains that linked together the front hooves and the back hooves of Jordan’s horse. The horse walked slowly behind her witch as Professor McGonagall led them away. Professor Snape stepped in the way as if to keep Harry from following them, even though he hadn’t intended to.

“Go in to breakfast,” said Professor Snape.

“Do you think the way society treats Squibs is fair, sir?” Harry asked.

Professor Snape paused for a long moment. Then he shook his head.

“How could it be?” he asked. “They are cast forth into the Muggle world, where many of them don’t know how to survive. Sometimes their families try to prepare them, but they don’t do a very good job. And if they’re purebloods, then suddenly they’re expected to live among and associate with people they’ve always been told are inferior. Many of them never speak to their families again, and not by their own choice. They’re pitied and despised from the time they’re very young, since everyone knows they’re Squibs by the time they’re two years old.”

“Then—don’t you think they would be better off in the magical world, sir?”

“Even that has problems. They can’t see familiars, Mr. Potter.” Professor Snape glanced for a moment in the direction Jordan and Professor McGonagall had gone. Harry looked, too, but they were already out of sight. “Unless they take measures to _acquire_ one of their own, of course. They can’t see where a familiar is standing, or when someone is holding a door open for one, or when a chair is occupied by one. One reason that Squibs often leave our world to go into the Muggle one of their own accord, even if their families would be happy for them to stay, is the amount of offense and trouble they cause, without meaning to.”

Harry nodded slowly. So it didn’t have any easy solutions. Well, he had known that before he asked the questions, really. “Thank you, sir.”

“That does not mean that what you did was wrong,” Professor Snape said. “Not when so many of them have been trying to hurt you and oppose you.”

Harry laughed a little sadly. “I think it was the only solution I could come up with, sir, but that doesn’t mean it was absolutely the right thing to do.” He touched Golden’s head, and rubbed it when he felt his familiar leaning against him. Golden might have some problems with what they had done, too.

But not as many as people like Jordan had, or he would have refused to help Harry mark the artificial familiars in the first place.

 _Maybe that’s the most awful thing about the artificial familiars,_ Harry thought as he walked into the Great Hall. _They can’t tell their humans when they’re going wrong, because they’re just objects who do what their humans tell them to. And if they’re ones who were cut apart and still have their own wills, they have to run away from their humans to do what they think is right._

His mind on Songleaper and Curtis, Harry looked around the Great Hall, and wasn’t really surprised when he didn’t see Wychard Medwyn and his peacock anywhere.

*

“I understand.”

“You _say_ that, but you don’t really.”

Pomona sighed and sat back on the chair next to the fire. Bryony snuffled and climbed into her lap. Pomona stroked her copper hedgehog and gazed through the fire at her sister, Hebe, who was avoiding her gaze.

“I wish that you could have trusted the world to treat you fairly by simply remaining as you were born,” Pomona said. “But obviously, you couldn’t. And Mother and Father are the ones who ultimately made the decision. Not you. You were a baby.”

Hebe swallowed and glanced at her through the fire again. Pomona was glad, at the moment, that she couldn’t see Dragon, Hebe’s tin monitor lizard. Pomona had always thought him a bit dull, but it was a different thing altogether to have to get used to the idea that he was _artificial_.

“But I’m still the one who benefited from their—one of them cutting their familiar up.” Hebe’s voice was a raw, thready thing. “I don’t even know which of them it was.”

“But you’re not the one who committed the crime,” Pomona said firmly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“What’s going to happen to me now?” Hebe’s eyes turned back to her, so full of dread that they hurt Pomona’s heart. “Did your student think of _that_ before he unleashed the forces of chaos?”

“He is only eleven,” Pomona said gently. “And I would be surprised if you weren’t questioned by the Aurors.”

Hebe made a sharp noise and buried her face in her hands. Pomona knew that her sister was full of fear and anxiety on a daily basis, which was one reason that she hadn’t pursed a career as a Hit Wizard the way that she had first thought of. Appearing in public on a daily basis would have been more than she could bear.

“Are you listening to me, Hebe?”

After a long moment, Hebe looked up at her and nodded. A movement off to the side was probably Dragon, but Pomona ignored that and kept looking at her sister.

“I’ll do whatever you need to help,” Pomona pledged, holding out a hand to the fire even though she couldn’t reach through it to touch Hebe without Floo powder. “I _know_ you didn’t cause the vivisection of whatever familiar was cut up to help you, and you haven’t hurt anyone to keep the secret. So we’ll face the Aurors together.”

Hebe fought down an audible sob, and then whispered, “Do you think—they thought they were making my life better? By not leaving me as a Squib?”

“I’m sure of it,” Pomona said. She thought of their parents, and decided internally that it was their mother who had cut up her own butterfly familiar to help Hebe. But she wouldn’t say that right now. Hebe had always been closer to their mother, and trying to tarnish her image in Hebe’s eyes wouldn’t help. “You know how our world treats Squibs. They were trying to protect you.”

“By committing murder.” Hebe stared at the floor.

“You have a connection to Dragon, don’t you?” Pomona asked. It wasn’t the sort of thing usually discussed in polite society, but she couldn’t think of a better time for asking it than now. “I mean, you can _feel_ him?”

“Of course!” Hebe’s big brown eyes swung up. “Maybe not as strongly as you feel Bryony, but how do you compare something like that? I can feel his soul fluttering against mine when I tell him to do something or when I cast a spell.”

“I think all of this is far more complex than we know,” Pomona said firmly. “If you can feel a connection, if you can do _magic_ because of your bond to him, then obviously, Squibs aren’t just magic-free as we’ve always assumed. And the artificial familiars aren’t just objects. We need to rely on that angle. Tell them that former Squibs are people, and _former_ Squibs, and that taking away your familiars would do no good.”

Hebe looked at her with wide eyes and then a tremulous smile. “Thank you for not rejecting me, Pomona,” she whispered. “I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”

“I promise that I never will,” Pomona said. “And frankly, I don’t understand the people who do. They’re the ones whose souls are dead.” Bryony stood up and nuzzled her hand in agreement, and Pomona stroked her nose gently. “I’ll fight for you, Hebe.”

“And what about your student who caused all this?”

“For him, too. We’re all magical,” Pomona said. “We all have familiars, no matter how we got them. We should fight to stand together.”

*

Lucius slipped away as soon as he could from Narcissa and the way she was swearing at the front page of the paper. Sometimes her words and actions jolted him, as much as he loved her.

He walked across the grounds and came to a halt in a part of them that Narcissa never visited. It wasn’t much, certainly not marked by anything except Lucius’s memories, and the memories of people now dead. It was a small green mound, and the house-elves knew to plant white and blue flowers on it and to renew the flowers when they faded, but they didn’t know why.

There was a marble bench nearby, really meant for the contemplation of a mirror pool in front of it. Lucius sat down on the bench and gazed at the mound instead of the water.

His father had thought that Lucius didn’t know, so he had never bothered to deny it. He had never ventured near the green mound, either, and hadn’t known about the flowers that Lucius had ordered the house-elves to plant on it.

At least, he hadn’t known in life. After there was no more chance that Abraxas would damage Lucius, or the mound, Lucius had taken great pleasure in telling his portrait, and in watching the plum color that its face turned as it raged.

The portrait-painter had probably been stupefied by the amount of extra Galleons Lucius had sent a few days later. But she’d never confessed the payment to anyone else, so Lucius hadn’t had to silence _her._

Narcissa didn’t know, and Abraxas certainly wouldn’t tell her, considering it shameful as he did. Lucius had often contemplated telling Draco, but it would only happen, if all, when he was older and could understand the complexities.

Perhaps Lucius could tell him sooner than that, given the influences of Draco’s…friend Harry Potter.

Hecate sidled up to the bench and twined her neck around Lucius’s. Lucius stroked his familiar’s throat with gentle fingers and stared at the mound. No tears blurred his vision. They never had.

Abraxas Malfoy had thought Lucius didn’t know and didn’t remember anything important, but Lucius had been two when his sister was born, and four when she died. Of course he remembered. Angelica had been small, her hair nearly white, her eyes nearly silver, perfect.

But no familiar had manifested by her side at the age of eighteen months. Lucius hadn’t cared. It hadn’t been borne in on him, at that point, how shameful it was to have a Squib in the family. He had played with Angelica, sung to her, and promised that he would do magic for her, since she couldn’t do it herself. He’d put her on Hecate’s back and watched his wyvern soar a few meters above the ground with her, knowing that he needn’t worry. Hecate was a part of himself, and she would be as tender with Angelica as he was.

He had brought Angelica back to the Manor one day after such a ride, and his father had met them and told Lucius to leave the room, that he had to speak to Angelica. But Lucius had lingered outside the door, which he had cracked open, already planning to intervene if the scolding got too intense. Angelica hadn’t done anything wrong. She didn’t deserve it.

Hecate pressed closer. Lucius stroked down her neck and touched one of the enormous, delicate wings.

He would never forget, as long as he lived, the sight of his father’s hands closing around Angelica’s throat, or how Angelica’s feet had drummed.

He would never forget, as long as he lived, that he had been too much of a coward to go to her rescue.

His father had left the room with Angelica’s body by another door, and had told Lucius later that night, when he asked why she wasn’t at dinner, that she was sick with a violent fever. Then Abraxas had claimed she had died overnight. Lucius’s mother, Elspeth, had barely wept. She had done all her weeping before the death, Lucius was certain.

Of course Angelica had been buried on the Manor grounds, as all Malfoys were. As who knew how many other Malfoy Squibs were, because they would never cast them into the Muggle world where someone could _find_ them.

History said there had never been a Squib born into the Malfoy line.

 _History lies,_ Lucius thought, and touched his familiar on the back in the way that Hecate knew meant she needed to withdraw her neck, and he started to walk back towards the Manor, revolving the decision that he must make in his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

“I want to know what you thought you were doing, Mr. Potter.”

Harry fought back his nerves. What he had done was in the past, and he couldn’t change it. He just needed to answer Madam Bones’s questions as best as he could.

Golden draped his head over Harry’s shoulder from where he was coiled up along the side of the chair. Harry stroked his chin and looked for a second at the tapestry on the wall behind the Headmistress’s desk that had all four Hogwarts animals on it. The gleaming green snake reassured him, even though he wasn’t in Slytherin.

“I was trying to solve the problem of artificial familiars, Madam Bones,” Harry said, turning to where she stood next to the Headmistress and frowned at him. “Some of their owners were attacking me, and no one was doing anything.”

Madam Bones sighed. Her tiger lifted his head from his paws for a moment, then lowered it. “ _Something_ would have been done, Mr. Potter.”

“But what, though? Madam,” Harry added, as he saw her lips tighten like Aunt Petunia’s.

“Something.”

Harry waited for a second, then shrugged. “I didn’t know that, Madam Bones. I just thought that no one was doing anything fast enough, and no one really wanted to deal with the problem of artificial familiars, because of how big it is.”

Madam Bones blinked for a moment. “So you decided to place it in our laps so that we would _have_ to do something?”

She sounded—wondering, but also like she was going to be angry in a second. Harry nodded and sat up and forced himself to keep looking at her. “Yes, madam. I didn’t know if anyone would ever help them otherwise. And some of the familiars that used to be a different color before they were cut up were coming to me for help, and—” He hesitated.

“Say what’s on your mind, Mr. Potter.”

Resolute even though it probably meant he’d get yelled at later, Harry said firmly, “No one was doing anything about the problem of Squibs, either. Or the way that people with tin and copper familiars feel like they’re less than everybody else. So I didn’t trust the Ministry to handle the problem of artificial familiars by itself, either.”

Madam Bones exchanged a glance with the Headmistress, but Harry couldn’t tell what either one of them was thinking. Malkin sat with his tail curled around his paws instead of looking angry, though. That reassured Harry as much as anything could.

“You need not worry about us failing to handle this,” Madam Bones finally said, in a thin, weary voice.

 _Because I forced you into it._ But Harry nodded. “Can I be excused, Madam Bones? I have Herbology now.”

Madam Bones made a noise that might have been one of despair. Maybe she was on the verge of throwing her hands up in the air. Harry didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get out of the uncomfortable office.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, you may go,” Headmistress McGonagall said, and sat back to smooth her hand down Malkin’s back. “I’m sure the Ministry will let you know if they have more questions for you.”

Harry nodded and said, “I’m sorry for causing trouble, Madam Bones.” Then he left the room before she could call him back or decide she was angry after all.

Golden rubbed his head gently against Harry’s arm as they headed down towards the stairs and Herbology. “ _You are right that the Ministry would probably have done nothing about the artificial familiars. They had ignored evidence of it in the past. We can’t be the first ones to find it._ ”

Harry nodded and sighed. “ _I know, but it’s hard to know that I hurt other people, even if I made the best decision I could._ ”

Golden flicked his tongue out, and Harry glanced up to see Professor Sprout walking towards him, her hamster Bryony trundling along at her side. Harry swallowed nervously. Was he so late to Herbology that she had to come find him?

“Professor?”

“Are you all right, Mr. Potter?” Professor Sprout peered at him curiously. “You look like you’re about to fall over.”

 _She didn’t say my name like I was in trouble._ “I thought I was so late for class that you came to fetch me.”

Professor Sprout chuckled and shook her head. “You should learn the _Tempus_ Charm, Mr. Potter. Or get a watch. No, I came to find you because I did want to talk to you, and I thought we could walk to the greenhouse at the same time.”

“Oh. Sure, professor.” Harry calmed his heartbeat down as much as he could and started to walk next to her. Professor Sprout picked up Bryony, who sat in her hand and looked down at Golden as if considering trying to ride on his head.

“How much do you know about how Squibs are treated in our society, Mr. Potter?”

“Not much except for what Professor Snape told me,” Harry said. “That it’s badly, and that there’s no good solution, because they shouldn’t be exiled to the Muggle world, but they can’t see familiars if they stay in the magical one.”

Professor Sprout nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that much is true. And there is very little interest in making things better for them, partially because it’s seen as such a shame when a Squib is born into the family. That’s one reason that artificial familiars were created, of course.” She tilted her head at him. “Do you _hate_ Squibs, Mr. Potter?”

Harry took a deep breath. “No, professor. But I don’t think it’s fair if they did cut up someone else’s familiar to make their own, and I don’t think it’s fair if they attack me.”

Professor Sprout blinked. “Of course not, Mr. Potter. But I would advance to you that many of the people who have artificial familiars have them because their parents made a decision for them when they were children, rather than because they are now evil people.”

“I met a woman who’s like that, Professor,” Harry admitted. “She had to have been a kid, because she had the familiar when she went to Hogwarts. But she attacked me once and tried to attack me again, and I don’t have—I’m sorry, but I don’t feel much sympathy for her.”

Professor Sprout paused and looked at him thoughtfully as they stood in the door that led into the entrance hall. “Do you think everyone is like her?”

“No.” Harry stared at her. “Do you know someone with an artificial familiar, Professor?”

Professor Sprout nodded. “She wasn’t even aware that her familiar was artificial until the marking you made appeared. Our parents made the decision when she was very small. And she had never known that her connection with her familiar was different from the ones that other people had with _theirs_ , because that’s not something that’s often discussed and would be different to quantify if it was.”

“Oh,” Harry said softly. It seemed mental to him that someone wouldn’t _notice_ that their familiar was more like a hammer than a living creature, but then again, lots of people in ordinary magical society had managed to ignore it, too. “Does she need help?”

Professor Sprout smiled at him and pressed his shoulder with one hand. “I don’t want you to worry about it, Mr. Potter.”

Harry squinted at her. “Then why did you bring her up at all, professor?”

Professor Sprout laughed. “Because I think you might be able to help her in the future, Mr. Potter, at least if you’re not actively hostile to Squibs. But I don’t think that you owe it to her to make her life different and better immediately, especially since you probably didn’t know people like her existed.”

“I didn’t really think about it,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “I assumed most of them knew and would do anything to protect their secret.”

Professor Sprout sighed. “My sister is not your problem to solve, nor your friend to protect. But I hope that you’ll be open to meeting with her once we’ve decided what we should do, and talking to her about it.”

Harry nodded. “Professor, are your parents still alive? Do you know which of them did that to her? To their familiar?”

“No.” Professor Sprout’s mouth tightened for a second. “To both questions. I have my suspicions, but I don’t think my suspicions would actually help the situation at this point.”

Harry nodded again. He could see that. “Well, I’d like to meet your sister at some point, Professor. If you think she’d like to meet me.”

Professor Sprout’s hand brushed his shoulder for a moment. “I’m sure she’d like to, Mr. Potter. Now, come on. We should get to classes.” She smiled down at him. “You can’t be the goldenborn savior of the wizarding world _all_ the time. Sometimes, you have to be an ordinary student.”

Harry knew she’d probably meant to make him laugh, but he saw no reason not to.

*

“What’s going to happen to me, Headmistress?”

Minerva sighed as she stared at the boy in front of her, sitting with his head bowed and his fingers twiddling. Wychard Medwyn’s familiar, at his side, was too nervous and too independent to be a natural artificial familiar (what thoughts this situation made her have), but he had the golden aura and the words floating around him. Presumably, Medwyn had cut up part of him at one point to make sure that someone related to him could have a familiar.

“That is up to you, Mr. Medwyn,” Minerva said quietly, and drew the relevant letter out of a drawer, where she had been storing all the various pleading and angry and horrified letters from parents. “Your mother and father want to take you out of Hogwarts.”

Medwyn flinched with his whole body and stared at her with dark eyes. “I would—I would give _anything_ if that didn’t happen, Headmistress.”

“Really? Do you fear that your family would abuse you?”

“Not—as such.”

The young man appeared to be struggling. Minerva waited. Malkin was prowling back and forth on her desk, his eyes fixed on the Slytherin’s peacock familiar. Minerva put her hand on his back to distract him. She didn’t think his animosity was simply because of his usual predatory interest in bird familiars. He seemed to have an instinctive hostility to all artificial ones. She’d had to stop him attacking the others who had come into the office before this, too.

Finally, Medwyn whispered, “I’m afraid that they would say that I’m the one who betrayed the secret, and maybe they would say I’m the reason our whole family is going to suffer. I can’t take it if they’re disappointed in me, Professor McGonagall. I _can’t._ ”

Minerva blinked rapidly. She remembered well, herself, being that age and feeling like the disappointment of a parent was the whole world. She sat back in her chair. “Very well, Mr. Medwyn. What alternative would you suggest? I cannot take custody of you if your parents are not abusive, or even keep you here if they send for you. It is a parent’s right to have their child attend another school if they wish.”

Medwyn braced himself as though he was about to push a boulder uphill. Then he looked her dead in the eye. “What about the Heisenberg Laws, Professor?”

Minerva stared at him with her mouth a little open. When she realized it, she shut it, and gathered up Malkin in her arms as he gathered himself as if he would really spring at the peacock. The nervous bird danced behind his wizard with a little squawk.

“You must tell me where you heard about those, Mr. Medwyn.”

Medwyn clenched his hands in his lap and folded his legs around them as if he wanted to hide everything about himself from view, but his hands would do for a start. “My parents told me about them when they were talking about why we couldn’t be found out. Because you could claim custody of a child whose parents were a danger to his familiar.” He cleared his throat. “Or anyone could claim that kind of custody, really.”

“I will have an easier time as the Headmistress than most others would,” Minerva acknowledged. “But why not ask your Head of House?”

Medwyn swallowed. “I was afraid to,” he whispered. “He’s so close to Harry Potter lately, and Harry Potter is the one who did _this_ to me.” He nodded to the golden aura around his familiar.

“You ought to know that I also have protected and sheltered Mr. Potter.”

“But not to the point that you look as though you’re going to murder anyone who doesn’t bow down and worship him.”

Medwyn’s voice was bitter enough that Minerva winced. She wondered if she should tell Severus to pay more attention to his own House and less to Harry. But she knew already that he would never agree. He would only assume that Slytherins needed it proved to them that he stood with a goldenborn child, and take it out on people who didn’t deserve it.

“I don’t worship Mr. Potter,” she said, and shook her head when Medwyn stared at her. “But I won’t tolerate threats to him, either.”

Medwyn licked his lips. “I don’t care about him. I mean, not that much. I don’t like him, but I won’t attack him.”

“All right, Mr. Medwyn. Say that I claim custody of you under the Heisenberg Laws. What happens next?”

“I don’t have to go home and face my family?” But it was clear from the question that Medwyn put at the end of that statement that he didn’t believe it would only entail that. Minerva just stared at him, and Malkin lashed his tail. Medwyn sighed and leaned back in his chair, letting his hand dangle down for his peacock familiar.

“My parents are going to be furious,” he began quietly. “And I imagine that they’ll try to bring you in front of the Wizengamot, or challenge the Heisenberg Laws.”

“And they’ll try to incite other parents to remove their children, won’t they?”

Medwyn blinked. That didn’t seem to be a perspective on the situation that had occurred to him. He nibbled his lip for a second, and then nodded. “Sorry, Professor. They probably will.”

“How many students am I going to lose as the result of taking custody of you, Mr. Medwyn?”

He curled into the chair and didn’t meet her eyes. But a second later, Minerva sighed. It wasn’t his fault, and it didn’t sound as though he had been more than a child when he’d cut up his familiar—or been made to cut him up. It wasn’t fair to lay the blame for the situation across his shoulders.

“I will make an announcement that anyone else who needs to consider the school their temporary home under the Heisenberg Laws can do so. I will help that catches the worst cases, the students who are afraid of their parents or guardians, as you are. And if others leave and go home to bad situations willingly…well, I can’t stop them.”

Medwyn blinked and sat up. “Why are you granting me sanctuary when it’s going to cost you so heavily?”

Minerva looked down at Malkin. He glanced up at her, bright eyes shimmering, and he gave her the courage to say what she had to.

“I had the good fortune of being born with a bronze familiar, an _acceptable_ color according to our world,” she said quietly. “And not a Squib, or someone else who would be badly-treated. And that means that I have the duty to speak up for people who don’t have as much as I do and need my protection.” She ran a hand down Malkin’s back, and he arched it and purred. “And specifically, the man whom people _revered_ because of his golden phoenix lived by a philosophy of the greatest good for the greatest number. I can’t live that way. I have to accept individuals who need help and try to protect the one, or I can’t live with myself.”

Medwyn swallowed and blinked hard. Minerva glanced aside until she thought he’d recovered, and added briskly, “You will have to write the letter to your parents informing them that you’ve invoked the Heisenberg Laws and appealed to Hogwarts for sanctuary, Mr. Medwyn. That’s not something I can legally do for you.”

“Will you—would it be possible to prevent their Howlers from coming inside the wards, Headmistress?”

Minerva smiled a little. “When you enter my custody, Mr. Medwyn, the magic of that arrangement will automatically divert Howlers to me.”

His relief was obvious. He stammered out some excuses, some thanks, and then rushed out of the office to write the letter he needed to write. Minerva leaned her head back on her chair and closed her eyes, her hand flexing open as she gently rubbed Malkin’s back. Then he sprawled on his belly and let her rub that.

“Did I do the right thing?” she asked quietly, looking at her familiar.

Malkin lifted his head and sat up, staring into her eyes. Then he curled his tail gently around her wrist.

Minerva sighed and closed her eyes again. The Heisenberg Laws, named after the familiar of the wizard who had passed them, laid down a series of rules for when a child could seek custody from someone who wasn’t his or her parents, or an adult could request the protection of the Ministry, because they believed that someone else was an imminent danger to their familiars. They hadn’t been used more than once a decade since they’d been passed. There weren’t _that_ many parents who constituted a danger to their children’s familiars, not even Muggle parents, who couldn’t see the familiar to hurt it.

But she suspected she was about to see a flood of requests.

She remembered what she’d said to Medwyn, though, and tightened her resolve. She’d meant it. She would do it again.

_I will never be Albus._


End file.
